After the Office Party Closet-Romp
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl, AU. When an over-worked person goes to an office party, sometimes things could get out of hand. Things that had to be dealt with later.
**AN: This was a prompt from a Tumblr request. Maybe I'm a little sorry for it. It's just lighthearted.**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol didn't even usually go to the office parties. She was usually still in her office, working, when the parties were going on. The extra hours were the only way that she could feel entirely justified offering over her whole weekend to Sophia, her daughter, each week in case the girl was craving some attention from her mother—which since she'd hit her teenage years happened less and less.

Besides that fact, Carol never had anyone to go with to these types of events and it reminded her, all too much, of how _alone_ she felt sometimes. She was married to her job. It had been the only thing that had saved her—and kept she and her daughter both afloat—after she'd left a loveless and abusive marriage. She'd sunk everything she had into keeping her job and moving up in the ranks. She didn't have time for romance. She didn't want romance. She didn't even want to think about another man after ex-husband.

 _Except when she did._

Parties made her feel lonely. Alcohol clouded her judgment. In general, the combination of the two was best avoided.

She wasn't entirely sure why she hadn't stayed away from the spring office party. It happened every year, around Easter, and Carol had never been before. This year, though, she'd finished up work early—even completing something she didn't have to have done until the following week—and Sophia was away with her best friend and the girl's parents for a Spring Break trip. There was really no reason that Carol could use to get out of things.

So she'd gone to the party alone. She'd talked to a few people, met the spouses of people she never saw outside the office, and then she'd sunk a little lower in her feelings. It was spring. It was the time for happy relationships and buzzing about—and she was at an office party full of happy people, alone and feeling sorry for herself. So, she'd done what anybody else would do. She had a couple of drinks.

And those drinks turned into a couple more drinks. Which gave way to a few more.

Carol didn't even know that she was still _flexible_ enough to get her knees that close to her head—though two days later and her body was still protesting the exertion in some ways. She didn't even realize that she was _reckless_ enough to have said it just didn't matter when he admitted he carried no protection and she admitted that she hadn't even _seen_ a condom in ten years. She hadn't realized she was _spontaneous_ enough to be the one to see a supply closet as the perfect place to do things that would have made the security guards' night if they'd been done in any other location of the building. She would have never imagined that she'd be the kind of woman who realized, just when she wanted to scream his name, that she didn't even know what to call him.

What Carol did know was that it was Monday now, her underwear had gone home, hopefully, in the back pocket of the man because she couldn't find it anywhere, and she hadn't yet decided if she was hopeful that she would know him when she saw him or if she wanted to simply avoid him altogether.

She didn't have long to think about it, though. As soon as she unlocked her office door and let herself inside, she was greeted with a brown paper bag on her desk that had been stapled shut with more than enough staples to keep prying eyes from knowing what was inside. Carol picked up the bag and slowly ripped the top open, leaving the staples behind. Inside, she found her underwear—though they were clean, which was a nice gesture—and she slipped them into her purse. Besides that, though, there was a folded piece of paper. Carol took it out, unfolded the paper, and sat down in her office chair to read the message left behind by her mystery stud.

 _Sorry about Saturday._

 _Unless you aren't sorry about Saturday._

 _We both had too much to drink._

 _Thought you might want these back._

 _Lunch?_

 _Daryl_

Carol deciphered the message as best she could. The scrawl wasn't wonderful, but she worked it out after a moment. His phone number was written at the bottom of the letter and Carol immediately logged into her computer to do a quick search of the company's employees. The search turned up three results for "Daryl". One she was able to immediately discredit, given that there was a profile picture provided, but the other two offered her nothing more than the faceless "gray men" that the website loaded for everyone who didn't bother to put in a picture.

Carol stared at the number for a while.

Should she go to lunch with him? She didn't eat lunch with anyone. She either brought something from home or, if she didn't have anything to bring, she went down to the cafeteria and got something to bring back to her office. She worked through most lunches. She wasn't even sure she remembered how to have a conversation that didn't revolve around business.

Of course, if Daryl was anything like she remembered him, conversation hadn't mattered much to either of them.

Carol sighed and entered his number into her phone. At the very least, she could clear things up. She could thank him for doing exactly what she'd asked him to do—because she was pretty sure their lust-filled-closet-romp had been her idea—and she could tell him that she hoped he had a nice life. She texted him, telling him who she was, and she confirmed that she'd meet him for lunch. She was surprised when, less than a half a minute later, her phone buzzed and she got a message from him telling her where to meet him. Apparently, they were going to a café near work.

Carol confirmed and tried to focus on her work for the rest of the morning, though she was more than a little distracted with the idea of coming face to face with Daryl again—this time without her back to a concrete wall and the smoothness of alcohol to soothe over any difficulties she might have with social interaction.

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Daryl got up when he saw Carol walking toward him. He was surprised that she'd agreed to meet with him for lunch. Honestly, after what had happened between them, he wasn't sure if she'd be horrified. In hindsight, they'd both been entirely too drunk. He couldn't blame her at all if she regretted what had seemed like a good idea at the time.

She was high above him in the company. She was one of the big wigs who answered phones and went to meetings all day. Daryl was working in the production levels of the company and the only meetings he went to were the boring ones where they discussed their ideas about how to make it easier to be more productive—ideas that were promptly forgotten and ignored by those who had requested them.

She was the kind of person who moved up in her job. He was the kind who really had no more hope than to simply punch his time card until the time came to retire with the benefits he'd earned and hoped the company didn't jerk away from him just as he cleared the finish line.

And besides that? She was _beautiful_ while Daryl was more the kind of man who picked grime out from under his fingernails with his pocketknife.

Maybe, even in his drunken state, Daryl had kind of realized that he might be taking advantage of the situation. When she'd asked him if he wanted to go somewhere private, he'd jumped at the offer. He'd told himself that he was too drunk to turn it down. But he realized, when he was honest with himself, that if he was sober enough to go through with the act—which at his age could be tricky after too many drinks—he was probably sober enough to have stopped the whole thing and reminded Carol that she might regret everything the morning after.

But he'd wanted to be with her. He'd met her a few times before, even if she didn't know who he was, and he'd always thought she was the perfect kind of woman. She was well-built. She was classy. She was beautiful and she had a smile that made him shiver. And he may have taken after his brother just a little more than he liked to admit, because he'd taken advantage of her drunkenness, when she offered herself to him, just to get a chance to be with a woman like that—a woman that wouldn't give him the time of day when she was sober.

Daryl waved at Carol when he realized she couldn't find him—or didn't remember him. She caught sight of him, stared at him for a moment, and then she smiled and sped her steps up. When she got to the table, he pulled her chair out for her. It didn't matter to him if it was overkill for an outside table at a quiet little coffee shop. He took his seat across the table from her, but it was at that moment that he realized that all his carefully rehearsed lines had gone immediately out the window. He couldn't remember a word of any of them.

He cleared his throat and bought himself a moment since Carol didn't seem to have anything prepared, either, to break the awkward feeling surrounding them.

"I'm—sorry about Saturday," he offered. "I guess you got my note."

Carol smiled and nodded.

"I don't think you have anything to be sorry for," Carol said. "From what I remember—you were a perfect gentleman. I—got the bag too."

Daryl felt his cheeks burn warm.

"They were nice," he said. "Figure you might—ya know—want 'em back."

Carol thanked him, even if it felt like an odd thing to thank someone for.

"I—uh..." Carol said. Daryl watched her, waiting for her to finish. She rolled her tongue around inside her mouth, like she was tasting all the possible words that might follow, and then she shrugged and shook her head. "I don't know what to say," she said with a laugh. "I don't really do this...not—I just don't do this."

Daryl laughed to himself at her words and scratched nervously at the back of his neck.

"Does anybody?" He asked.

Carol visibly relaxed a little. He instantly saw her shoulders sag slightly. She smiled with a little less force than before.

"I don't know," she admitted. She raised her eyebrows at him. "Do you?"

Daryl chuckled.

"If I did," he said, "then don't'cha think I'da been a little more _prepared_?" Carol's face blushed dark pink. "About that," Daryl said. "That was alright? I'm sorry—I...there's nothin' you gotta worry about I mean...I don't, you know, have nothing..."

Carol's eyes went wide and she shook her head.

"Nooo," she drew out. "No. Me neither. I mean—I don't...either."

Daryl blew out a breath. Between his face that was practically aching and the fact that he couldn't quite get in the oxygen he felt like he needed for life, he was a little concerned about how long this conversation might last. He cleared his throat again.

"Look," he said. "I'ma get outta here. I just—wanted to tell you I was sorry. Shouldn't have—took advantage like that." He stood up, but he stopped before walking off like he intended to do. "Just wanted you to know that—I don't think less of you or nothin'. Hope you don't think less of me. You're—uh—still a classy ass lady."

Carol stared at him and then she laughed. It was a loud burst of a laugh like she might have intended to keep it inside but failed. She reached, surprising him by grabbing his arm so that he couldn't walk off like he intended to do.

"That's it?" Carol asked, raising her eyebrow at him.

"What'd you want?" He asked, confused. He assumed she wanted to escape the awkward situation as badly as he did.

Carol shook her head slightly.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I don't do those kinds of things. Ever. I mean—ever. I work all the time. Maybe I wanted..."

Daryl shook his head at her.

"I don't think we should..." he said, thinking he was picking up on what he thought she was trying to say. "Prob'ly not a good idea."

"To eat lunch?" Carol asked.

Daryl's stomach flipped. She was inviting him for lunch—just a normal, everyday lunch. And she wasn't at all bothered by what had happened. She wasn't at all angry with him. She didn't hold anything against him. Carol simply wanted to have lunch with him. He smiled at her and immediately tried to cover it over.

"Lunch?" He asked.

"Isn't that what you asked me here for?" Carol asked.

Daryl glanced around. They were on the patio alone besides one other table of people—and those people weren't paying them any attention at all.

"Well...yeah," he responded, shrugging slightly. He didn't ignore the fact that she still had her delicate fingers wrapped around his wrist—an activity very different than the ones they'd been engaged in a few nights before.

"Well," Carol said. "You filled my request. The least I can do is fill yours."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Yeah," he said. "But—uh—then what?"

Carol shrugged.

"I guess—we'll just have to see how lunch goes," she said.


End file.
